


She

by ZoS



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-12 20:30:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21482416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoS/pseuds/ZoS
Summary: Before Andrea Sachs, and before her kids, she was the only one Miranda truly loved.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 13
Kudos: 175





	She

**Author's Note:**

> I actually started writing this one two months ago today and gave up, like, two paragraphs in. After months of writer's block, here's the finished product.

"Andrea, I'm at work--as you should know," Miranda practically hisses into the phone. "Is this an emergency?"

This is Andy's cue to speak up and fast. Even now, depending on Miranda's mood, she is not always exempt from being hung up on, but just when she needs them most, words evade her. Some writer she is.

"It kind of is," she manages at last, enraged to find her voice so small and timid.

"Well, out with it," Miranda snaps.

"It's... I'm not sure how to say this, Miranda... I'm really sorry, but-- well, when I came home-- I mean, well, before that, I guess--" she stumbles over her words, unable to find the right ones.

Still, it's incredibly generous of Miranda to inform her in advance, "I'm about to hang up, Andre--"

"Patricia's dead."

*

"Well," says Miranda and it comes out on a breath she must have been holding for a while.

"I'm so sorry, Miranda," Andy says softly, risking a glance in her direction. They're both standing over what was once the wild, cheerful body of the Priestly household's canine, now lying limp and inert in her enormous bed. She could be mistaken, if they didn't know better, for sleeping, her breathing easily missed due to the abundance of brown and white hair, and it seems that any second she'll jump up and hurtle toward the front door with her subtle hint of a desired walk in the park.

"Have you called someone to remove her?" Miranda asks, her voice cold and her face stiff, and if it weren't for the fact that she can't seem to remove her eyes from her long-time friend, Andy would be outraged at the indifference she's presenting. But as it is, she chooses to give Miranda the benefit of the doubt--knows better than to believe the show she's putting on.

"I thought you might want to see her first," she whispers sympathetically, but as much as she wants, doesn't dare to touch Miranda.

Miranda, who takes one last eyeful and then rolls her eyes. "It's a corpse, Andrea. There's nothing to see." On her pointed way out of the room, she orders over her shoulder, "Get her out of here before she spreads some disease or other."

*

Patricia Priestly is, quite possibly, the only pet in America to be honored with a human-like funeral. One of Miranda's assistants is tasked with finding a space in a green, secluded part of the cemetery and, with the right amount of money, Miranda receives the approval to purchase a plot and a top-of-the-line coffin. Patricia's favorite toy is buried alongside her--chewed up and equally lifeless. Cassidy places a red rose on top of the coffin, Caroline clings to and sniffles against her mother's side, and Miranda stands still and stoic, watching with hard eyes as her dog is slowly lowered into the ground.

*

"She would always bark at the TV when she saw other dogs," Cassidy recounts over dinner, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips at the fond memory.

"And remember that one time when we were in Central Park and she saw those people having a picnic and ran and stole their food?" Caroline exclaims enthusiastically.

"Yeah, that was really funny," Cassidy concurs with a giggle.

_Seems some Priestlys cannot be tamed after all,_ Andy thinks, joining in the laughter. Every now and then, however, she sneaks a glance toward Miranda, who's daintily picking at the food on her plate, and tries to gauge a reaction out of her closed-off face.

Taking her courage in both hands, she tries, "What're some memories you have of her, Miranda?"

The dragging sound of a chair on the hardwood floor follows, then Miranda responds dispassionately, "She shed a lot," and gets up, leaving Andy and her daughters gaping behind her.

*

Andy watches from the bed as Miranda affixes a golden hoop earring to her earlobe in front of her bedroom vanity. "Maybe you should take the day off," she suggests weakly, even though Miranda is already fully dressed and made-up and ready to go and despite the fact that, since the day she met her, she's never seen Miranda take a day off from work. Not even when she had the flu and theatened to infect anyone who came within a ten foot distance of her.

Miranda frowns at her through the reflection in the mirror. "What are you talking about?" she asks and sounds genuinely confused. "Why would I do that?"

"Well..." Andy shrugs and her voice shrinks even more. She mentally berates herself for being such a coward, even after all this time. "You're grieving. It's only natural for you to want to be alone with your thoughts. And your..." she dares to say, "your pain."

Miranda spins so sharply in her direction that she thinks she can feel a gust of wind. "Don't be ridiculous, Andrea," she admonishes, sounding so scandalized that Andy is almost insulted. "I'm not _grieving_. It's a dog. Dogs die," she spits and turns back to pick up a gold bracelet. "They don't have a very long shelf life to begin with."

Andy doesn't know if Miranda is really that dense or just too stubborn to show her true feelings, but either way, it motivates her enough to square her shoulders and raise her voice. "Maybe you should talk to someone."

"I'm talking to you right now."

"_Really_ talk, Miranda," she says sternly, skewering her with a glare through the mirror. Miranda catches it, rolls her eyes, and looks away. "This is a loss, even if it's just a pet. You had her for ten years. You shared a house with her. You can't be feeling nothing."

"What I'm feeling, Andrea," Miranda begins, turning around, and the words sound like they're coming out through gritted teeth, "is that I want to go to work and do things that matter and not dwell on things that don't." She fixes Andy with an irritated, challenging look. "May I?"

*

But that night, when they're lying in bed, neither of them seems to be able to fall asleep. Andy is too afraid to speak up now, though, and chooses to ruminate on her thoughts alone instead. On the fact that Miranda got Patricia as a puppy a whole decade ago, before the twins even left her womb. And on the fact that, try as she might to deny or conceal it, she's affected, of course she is, because Patricia was never the kids' pet--she was hers, and she was a household and family member and she was important. If she weren't, Miranda wouldn't have spent ridiculous amounts of money on grooming and spa treatments and the best toys and accessories and dog furniture in the world.

Patricia saw her through good and bad, through success and failure, through divorces and new love, and in her own unique way, in a way that others would never be able to emulate and that Miranda perhaps had never expected, she helped.

In the darkness, and under the stillness and cover of night, Miranda takes Andy's hand. In the darkness, she finally lets the tears come.


End file.
